Can lend you an Allufion fitter,
Though flatt'ring Knaves may call it bitter:
Which, if you durft but give it Place,
Would fhew you many a Statefman's Face.
Fresh from the Tripod of Apollo,
I had it in the Words that follow,
(Take Notice to avoid Offence
I here except His Excellence.)
So, to effect his Monarch's Ends, From Hell a Vice-Roy Dev'l afcends, His Budget with Corruptions cramm'd, The Contributions of the Damn'd; Which, with unfparing Hand, he strows Through Courts and Senates, as he goes; And then at Belzebub's Black-Hall, Complains his Budget was too fmall.
YOUR Simile may better shine
In Verfe; but there is Truth in mine.
For, no imaginable Things
Can differ more than GoD and
And Statesmen, by ten Thousand Odds,
Are ANGELS, juft as are Gods.
To Dr. DELANY, on the Libels writ against him.
-Tanti tibi non fit opaci
Omnis arena Tagi.
Written in the Year 1729.
S fome raw Youth in Country bred,
To Arms by Thirst of Honour led,
When at a Skirmish firft he hears
The Bullets whiftling round his Ears;
Will duck his Head, afide will start,
And feel a trembling at his Heart :
Till 'scaping oft without a Wound,
Leffens the Terror of the Sound:
Fly Bullets now as thick as Hops,
He runs into a Cannon's Chops.
An Author thus, who pants for Fame,
Begins the World with Fear and Shame,
When first in Print, you see him him dread
Each Pot-Gun levell'd at his Head:
The Lead yon? Critick's Quill contains,
Is deftin'd to beat out his Brains.
As if he heard loud Thunders roul,
Cryes, Lord bave Mercy on bis Soul;
Concluding, that another Shot
Will strike him dead upon the Spot:
But, when with squibbing, flashing, popping,
He cannot fee one Creature dropping;
That miffing Fire, or miffing Aim,
His Life is fafe, I mean his Fame;
The Danger paft, takes Heart of Grace,
And looks a Critick in the Face.
THOUGH Splendor gives the fairest Mark
To poifon'd Arrows from the Dark.
Yet, in your felf when smooth and round,
They glance afide without a Wound.
'Tis faid, the Gods try'd all their Art,
How Pain they might from Pleasure part:
But little could their Strength avail;
Both still are fasten'd by the Tail.
Thus Fame, and Cenfure with a Tether
By Fate are always link'd together.
WHY will you aim to be preferr'd
In Wit before the common Herd?
And yet grow mortify'd and yext
Το pay the Penalty annext.
'Tis Eminence makes Envy rife;
As fairest Fruits attract the Flies.
Shou'd ftupid Libels grieve your Mind,
You foon a Remedy may find;
* In feipfo totus teres atque rotundus.
Lye down obfcure like other Folks,
Below the Lafh of Snarlers Jokes.
Their Faction is five Hundred Odds,
For, ev'ry Coxcomb lends them Rods;
Can fneer as learnedly as they,
Like Females o'er their Morning Tea.
You fay, the Muse will not contain ;
And write you must, or break a Vein:
Then, if
you find the Terms too hard,
No longer my Advice regard:
But raise your Fancy on the Wing:
The Irish Senate's Praifes fing;
How jealous of the Nation's Freedom,
And, for Corruptions, how they weed 'em.
How each the publick Good pursues,
How far their Hearts from private Views.
Make all true Patriots UP to Shoe-Boys,
Huzza their Brethren at the Blue-boys.
Thus grown a Member of the Club,
No longer dread the Rage of Grub.
How oft am I for Rhyme to seek?
To drefs a Thought, may toil a Week;
And then, how thankful to the Town,
If all my Pains will earn a Crown.
Whilft ev'ry Critick can devour
My Work and me in half an Hour.
* The Irish Parliament fat at the Blue-boys Hofpital, while the new Parliament-House was building.
Would Men of Genius ceafe to write,
The Rogues must die for Want and Spite;
Muft die for Want of Food and Rayment,
If Scandal did not find them Payment.
How chearfully the Hawkers cry
A Satyr, and the Gentry buy!
While my hard-labour'd Poem pines
Unfold upon
the Printer's Lines.
A GENIUS in the Rev'rend Gown,
Muft ever keep its Owner down;
'Tis an unnatural Conjunction,
And spoils the Credit of the Function.
Round all your Brethren caft your Eyes;
Point out the fureft Men to rise,
That Club of Candidates in Black,
The least deserving of the Pack;
Afpiring, factious, fierce, and loud;
With Grace and Learning unendow'd:
Can turn their Hands to ev'ry Jobb,
The fittest Tools to work for Bobb:
Will fooner coin a Thousand Lies,
Than fuffer Men of Parts to rife:
They crowd about Preferment's Gate,
And prefs you down with all their Weight.
And, as of old, Mathematicians
Were by the Vulgar thought Magicians;
So, Academick dull Ale-drinkers
Pronounce all Men of Wit, Free-thinkers.
WIT, as the Chief of Virtue's Friends, Difdains to ferve ignoble Ends.
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